Trashy Television
by Nova Porter
Summary: After completing a stressful term at university, Hermione was looking forward to three things when she got home: taking her bra off, drinking her favorite red wine, and watching trashy television. Well...two out of three isn't bad, especially when you have help. *NOTE: Smutty, VERY swear-heavy especially at the beginning, loosely cannon based but in plot points only*


**Greetings and salutations, dear readers :D**

 **First, let me apologize for putting Salazar Institute for Performing Arts on indefinite hold without warning. The past few months have been...a lot, to put it lightly, mentally and emotionally...and today is the first day that I've had to chance a breathe a little easier. I will definitely be completing it; I just ask that you bare with me while I get back into the mental groove of that story.**

 **This little one-shot, though, stemmed from my feelings of immense satisfaction of completing a ten-week online course today. Literally, I submitted the last discussion post for the class and immediately wrote this. Self care is important, friends. Hope you enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: All characters and plot points associated with the Harry Potter franchise belong to J.K. Rowling.**

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This had to have been the longest, most painful week of Hermione Granger's life. And that was saying a lot, considering she fought in a fucking war to save all magical kind at seventeen fucking years old. But no. This week beats that whole entire year by a landslide.

Mind you, she brought this on herself. She knew this. She could've easily taken the safe job offer from the Ministry, or started the specialty bookshop in Diagon Alley, or anything else. But _nooooooooo_. She was Hermione Granger. She _looooooved_ to learn. And she just _had_ to attend the stupid fucking muggle university for stupid fucking law degree so she could super fucking prepared to work in/completely re-develop the Office of Muggle Relations at the fucking Ministry because fucking Kingsley asked her to.

 _Okay, Hermione, let's stop with the dramatics and excessive cursing_ , she thought as she made her way to her secluded alleyway so she could apparate home. To be fair, Hermione knew exactly why she was so grouchy. It was the end of an academically stressful term, and this particular week consisted of submitting two ten-pages-minimum papers, three final exams, grading case studies for the undergraduate class she was TAing for, and the usual amount of reading and homework. And she really did enjoy her program and cohort, and the information she was learning would absolutely help build a better bridge between the wizarding world and muggle world.

But right now, she was tired and her brain hurt, and she wanted nothing more than to take her bra off, drink her favorite red wine, and watch trashy television. Hermione glanced over her shoulder as she turned into the alley and, once confirming no one was around, turned on the spot and landed in the alley next to her flat. Usually, she would use muggle transportation to get to and from campus but her capacity to care was completely depleted. She walked into the lobby, checked her mailbox and spoke to Ms. Tabby at the front desk, walked up the two flights of stairs to her door, used a wandless _Alohamora_ to unlock her door, dumped her schoolbag next to the door that she closed rather soundly with her foot, toes off her shoes as she relocked with another wandless spell, then finally, at long last, dumped herself gracelessly onto her couch. She gave a loud, unattractive sigh as she rested her head against the couch, closing her eyes and flipping her long, bushy ponytail over the edge so it didn't pull. Yes, Hermione thought, she would become one with the couch. It would accept her as one of its own and they would live happily ever after. This was a good plan.

She didn't even flinch or open her eyes when she heard his footsteps walking out of her bedroom; she's heard his bare feet walk across her floors enough times to recognize his steps. She continued to sink into oneness with the couch as she felt her hair gently being pulled out of the constraints of her hair tie, and the firm and familiar feeling of fingers beginning to massaging her scalp.

"When did you get here?" she mumbled, lazily reaching back to gently grab her boyfriend's wrist as he continued his ministrations on her head.

"About fifteen minutes before you," Draco replied, placing a kiss on her temple, "Ms. Tabby let me up."

Hermione responded with an uncommitted hum, which turned into an adorable pout as she felt his hands leave her head. When she felt him sit next to her, she sighed and allowed Draco to position her so that she leaned against his chest while he picked up where he left off massaging her head. It was weird how the two ended up reconnecting after leaving Hogwarts. A good weird, for sure, but weird nonetheless. To the shock and scandal of all who knew her, Hermione decided not to return to Hogwarts to complete her seventh year. For a while, she lived with Harry in Grimmauld Place. He opted to jump into the auror's traing program with Ron, so she spent most of her days reading and trying to sleep around constant bad dreams and night terrors. After six months sleepless nights and anxiety-filled days, she started seeing a Muggle counseling. She obviously had to alter some of the details of her life and story, but overtime she learned tools on how to cope with her PTSD and resulting anxiety. Upon leaving one of her sessions, whom should she run into but Draco Malfoy leaving an office down the hall? Both were understandably shocked and unsure how to address this situation, so Hermione being the ballsy Gryffindor that she is invited him to get some ice cream and catch up. Draco was wary of the invite at first, being the skeptic that he is; however, his session had been rather rough that day so some chocolate ice with cookie crumble on top sounded divine. Thus began a post-therapy routine of ice cream, which turned into post-therapy dinner and drinks, and their individual therapy sessions went from processing the war to processing feeling something the exact opposite of hate towards their childhood nemesis. Fast-forward three and a half years to the pair sitting on her couch, Draco now having moved from massaging Hermione's head to massaging her neck and shoulders. Hermione lulled her head back against his bare shoulder with a sigh as he replaced the hand currently on her neck with his lips, kissing her at the pressure point he knew always turned her into a puddle while he removed the loose cardigan sweater that was already falling around her shoulders. With the cardigan gone, Draco ran his hands slowly up her torso and gently kneaded her breasts through her tank top, which brought about more breathy sighs and an arched back from the brunette. He gently traced up both of her arms, pulling her bra straps from under her shirt down her arms, guiding her through them.

"Bra…off…," he whispered huskily into her ear, punctuating the pause with a nip on her earlobe while unhooking her bra with one hand and feeling one of her newly-freed breasts with the other. Hermione turned her head to kiss him soundly and thoroughly as he continued to massage, pinch, and pull the sensitive mounds. She was so enjoying the ministrations and attention to her person; Merlin knows how much she needed this...

Draco pulled back, ignoring the whimper of protest from his girlfriend. "Your favorite red wine," he whispered against her lips. She raised an eyebrow at him and he nodded towards the coffee table. Only then did she notice the very generously filled glass.

"OhDearMerlinYesYesYes," she said in a hurry, reaching forward with comedic swiftness to retrieve the glass and raising it to her lips. Her eyes drifted shut and an involuntarily groan of pleasure made its muffled way out of her mouth.

"Well, damn. And here I thought this reaction was only reserved for me," Draco said, feigning hurt but incredibly turned on watching Hermione's sensuous reaction to the wine; it definitely helped that her nipples were pebbling through her shirt. Hermione peaked one eye open at her boyfriend, quickly taking notice of his current state due to the front of his grey sweatpants, and finished her sip being mindful to make a show of licking her lips of any lingering drops. She pulled her shirt over her head as she straddled his lap, rolling her hips against his erection earning her a throaty groan from him.

"The next thing on my list was watch trashy television," she moaned as she wrapped her arms around his neck as he kissed his way down her throat and chest, his tongue darting out to play with her nipple. He hummed in confusion to her comment, but the vibrations shooting through her body causing her to buck her hips into him.

"My list when I got home today…to relax- _OH_ ," she gasped as he moved from one nipple to the other, "Take my bra- _mmmm_ \- off, drink wine, and- _oh shit_ -watch trashy television…"

Draco stopped kissing her nipple with an audible pop and looked up at her with a raised eyebrow and a mischievous smirk. Without much warning, he stood from the couch and carried a laughing Hermione to her bedroom. He joined in her laughter as he dropped them both onto her bed, kissing her all over her face and making his way down her neck, chest, and torso. A playful smile still rest on both of their faces as he unbuttoned her jeans and pulled them down her legs, along with her bright purple panties.

"I do hope," he said, lazily kissing his way back up her legs placing one over each shoulder, "that you find this just as relaxing as trashy television…"

Confirmed: Draco Malfoy is 100%, absolutely, by far more relaxing than trashy television.

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 **And there you have it folks! It's fun, it's smutty, it has foul language, it has wine...woo! This is actually my first direct attempt at writing smut so please drop a comment to let me know how you feel I did. Also feel free to just drop a comment in general just because :) And apologize for any spelling mistakes and grammar errors.**

 **Until next time, xoxo Nova Porter**


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